Fop Fables
by SingingGal
Summary: Erik is taking his final, hilarious revenge on our beloved/hated Viscount de Chagny as they compete for the affections of Christine Daae. Rated T for sweet revenge, sweet romance, and lots of wine! (But nothing icky, you people!) NOT A ROMANCE BETWEEN RAOUL AND ERIK! A series of loosely-connected one shots of beauty, nerdiness, and hilarity written by SingingGal and PorterGirl321.
1. Raoul's Bad Hair Day

**This was written out of pure randomness by myself and PorterGirl321... but mainly her! :D (PorterGirl now bursts into "IT WAS EQUAL!) By the way... if a song is randomly burst into at any point... it is to the tune of "Ring Around The Rosie". Don't judge us. We're awesome. **

**DISCLAIMER: We don't own Phantom. So there. But if we did, this would be how the story ended. Be forewarned.**

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I walked to where I knew Raoul would be, smiling the first true smile I had in ages. Tonight there would be revenge, more pure than even the fop's love for his voluptuous locks. Or, even maybe, the purity of my victory over La Carlotta, when the look on her powdered face reached the peak of humiliation during the ill performance of Il Muto.

There he timidly stood in Christine's old dressing room, face pale and clammy under the lamp light. He cautiously glanced around, wary of every creak and shadow. I let my gorgeous baritone voice fill the room:

"Ah, I see you do care a great deal after all about what I have for you. Well then, come with me."

The Fop slowly made his way through the mirror, but stopped abruptly at the threshold.

"What in my sweet mother's urn's name is wrong?" I bellowed, my "extensive" patience wearing thin.

"I- I-I- Is there no white horse for me? You know, like you brought for Christine?" he stammered.

If I was not wearing my mask I would have face palmed myself.

"Do you want it or not, Fop!" I threatened.

"NO! No, I need this more than anything. I must have it."

On that note, we slowly made our way down through the catacombs, me having to unfortunately warn him of any traps that were set, ruining the opportunity for any future revenge… but that would not be needed.

"So… do you come here often?" the Fop said, desperately trying to grasp at something for conversation.

"I live here you buffoon."

"Oh! Of course, quite right, quite right."

These simple words seemed to open up a deadly floodgate of words and gossip for him, a gate other known as his revolting lady-like mouth. He rambled on nervously of many things, such as high Paris fashion, his favorite salons, and this _darling _bistro he just _adored._ Oh just Punjab me now.

"Oh yes, he is designing the dress for Christine's engagement party! The tulle flows down, and there is a matching hairpiece! The dress is blue and white, and the hairpiece is a red rosette with a black ribbon, she insisted on this for some odd reason, unbeknownst to myself, but she said it was in honor of a friend. Could I deny her that? And wait until my suit comes in! There are, of course, black dress pants made of silk from China, and the dye is imported from the Americas. The shoes I had specially ordered, I simply can't wear any shoes that are just _from the store! _ How shameful would that be of me! From the store, in all of my twenty-one years I have never worn _anything_ off the rack, like a- like a- commoner! The blouse has a ruffled collar, but I can't pick the pattern of lace. What do you think?"

"What do I _think?_"

"For the pattern of lace! We'll be matching the pattern on my shirt with Christine's wedding veil, so I want to make the right choice! Get some opinions in this matter and such."

"_You_ are asking _me_ for _fashion advice _to help you decide on the style of _Christine's wedding veil?"_

"I want to pick one that she would appreciate!"

I sighed. "Just follow your heart, kid."

Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore of Raoul chatting on about how many children he and Christine were going to have, we reached my lair. I quickly busied myself with some rope I had hidden in the corner.

"Er- Monsieur Phantom, uh, sir, are you going to fetch me the item?"

"What item?" I snapped absentmindedly.

"Why the wholesale shampoo you promised me! I truly cannot believe my salon was out. My poor hair _must _have it, or it will fall flat in the humidity! You understand, don't you?"

I reached up to finger what sparse hair I had, "Um, sure I do. Now, why don't you take a seat over there and make yourself comfortable."

The fop sat down in the dusty chair, and in a single breath, I threw my Punjab around his neck and proceeded to bind him to the seat. He barely said a word, just let out a melodramatic gasp. I practically skipped over to the only mirror I did not destroy in last month's rage and unveiled it with a flourish.

"You deceived me! I-I-I gave you my mind blindly for my overpriced hair products!" he whined.

"Speaking of that ridiculous hair of yours…" I said as I lifted up a pair of rusty scissors.

I have never heard such a pitiful and distressed wail in my life.

"YOU WOULDN'T!"

"Ah, but I would, and I shall."

I took a single strand of his silken mane between the blades.

"NO! That is my favorite strand! I can pin it up beautifully in the summer time!"

I cut it off and put it under his nose like a moustache. He burst into hysterical sobs. I burst into hysterical laughter. _Snip, snip_; a loud moan. _Snip, snip; _a bitter shriek. It continued on like this, till Raoul's hair was a sparse as my own.

"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! I WILL NEVER SHOW MY FACE IN PARIS AGAIN!"

"I know the feeling, bro."

"What will Christine think should she ever see me looking like this… Monstrosity! Oh, will she ever speak to me again! Will she call me a freak! Oh, woe is me!"

I shuddered at the thought that he sounded like myself.

I let him out of the chair, and he dramatically flopped onto the lair floor, trying desperately- and to no avail- to place it back onto his scalp. I plucked the strands from his small, feminine grasp and threw them into a bag postmarked already to the wig store.

"No. No, Phantom, you have gone too far! First you shave my hair, then you send it to the wig shop for some stranger to wear on their greasy head!

"It won't be on some stranger's head."

Raoul looked confused for a moment.

"It will be on mine!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he said in the most high pitched octave I have ever heard a human produce.

I've never heard Christine's lovely voice sing that high, nor Carlotta's ear splitting shrieks. He threw himself onto the floor in a tantrum, promptly kicking his feet against the ground. I promptly kicked him into the lake. He sputtered and coughed for several minutes, then fled the lair in a flailing rage, similar to that of a teenage girl's.

I chuckled darkly to myself, then mailed the bag of his hair to the wig shop.

Four to six business days later, I ripped open the package and placed the wig of Raoul's hair onto my head. I looked amazing, I must admit. But even my newfound beauty reflecting in the mirror could not compare to the curly-haired soprano that pranced in just as I was running about the lair, enjoying the feel of the wind in my cape… and my locks.

"Oh- um- good evening, Christine," I said, quickly trying to regain my usually formal composure. But- with the entire bottle of celebratory pinot noir I had downed over the last half hour, this was not going to happen easily.

"I know what you did, Erik." She said, giving me a glare almost as threatening as my own sometimes is. I have taught her well.

"Oh, uh, really? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking abou-"

"Thank you." She said.

"Whaaaaaaa?" I thought aloud, my mouth hanging agape.

"I was getting so tired of hearing him go on and on about it, but this fixed everything. Of course I did have to hear him go on and on about how he was now horribly disfigured."

My open mouth slowly crept into a smile, and I proceeded to rather attractively roll around the floor of the lair getting caught up in my cape, laughing in glee at my own triumph. Meanwhile, Christine stared at me in utter shock. I sat up straightening the wig on my head. We shared a rather awkward silence, and Christine looked at me as if I were a madman…. She has given me this look before.

"Um… so… have you and the fop- I mean Raoul – chosen a style of lace yet?"

"The wedding is off."

I stood to my feet, shocked sober.

"The wedding is… off?"

"Yes, it is. After Raoul went on his temper-tantrum rage- buying thirty-five thousand francs worth of wigs and hair growth serums- he finally proclaimed to me that he couldn't spend the rest of his life with a woman with better hair than himself."

"So- um- does this mean that we could possibly go out to dinner tomorrow evening?"

"It does mean that, Erik." She said, with a sly smile.

I proceeded to run around my lair dancing and singing a victory song to the tune of an old children's song:

"_The fop lost all his hair!_

_I dance around my lair! _

_I sing, you sing, and I get the girl!"_

Christine rolled her eyes and walked out of the room with a smile. "Just pick me up at seven-thirty, you!"

After she had left, I laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling. I should have done this _ages _ago. I mean that's all it took? After all this time?

Always.

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**Sorry, had to put in a Harry Potter reference! :D Please review. That's all I ask of you. Tell us what ya think, dawg! This may end up as a series of wonderful one-shots, so STORY ALERT! Have a snazzy life!**


	2. No Shirt No Shoes But I Still Sing Opera

**(This is continuing from the last chapter- not another one shot- and Erik and Christine are on their date. And Raoul is still bald. And I am still assisted by the lovely PorterGirl321) Disclaimer: We do not own Phantom or My Little Pony**

I sighed as I stared across the table at Christine. She looked beautiful. We were on the date that she had promised me when she discovered that I had shaved Raoul's long, flowing hair and made it into a wig (see previous monologue). Everything was going perfect: The food was wonderful, the beachside restaurant was secluded and romantic (palm trees flowing in the breeze, the waves lapping at the shoreline), and the wine was delicious… a little too delicious. I figured I might as well have another glass; I had reason to celebrate, did I not? But, sadly, I had one, two…. Five too many servings of pinot noir. I just needed some fresh air, I simply was not tipsy! After my many years of experience, I have built up immunity to alcohol. To get this air, I abruptly stood up- cutting my angel off mid-sentence- and stumbled down the steps to the sand, landing face-first and getting sand (and a crab) in my mask.

"Erik?" I heard her call after me.

"Jus'h a minute!" I said, my voice slurred.

I continued down towards the water, tripping on my cape in the process.

"Blasted thing!" I shouted, spitting sand out of my mouth as I noticed a solitary figure dancing among the waves. It was the Fop, wearing nothing - and I mean nothing- but a ridiculous wig. It was then that I noticed the sign, **'**_**Nude Beach'**_. Well then, what else should I do? I ripped off my cape, clothes, and mask. I threw the mask across the sand like a Frisbee, laughing like a madman.

I approached the Fop, and heard his feminine voice let loose:

_I lost all my-_ hiccup-_ hair_

_ My clothes are-_hiccup-_ over there_

_ I streak –_hiccup_, you streak-_hiccup,

_ And he gets the girl!_

Then I heard a soprano shriek behind me:

"Erik? ERIK! What do you think you are _doing? _Are you _mad?_"

"Mad about you, baby!"

"Erik, I think you've had too much to drink. Just put your clothes back on and I'll take you home." She said.

"Home? This is my new home! And I am never wearing clothes again!"

"Erik, at least wrap up in a cape. You like capes, remember?"

"Christine! You're here, too! Join us!" Raoul said, running out of the waves in his drunken nakedness. Christine shrieked once again. I couldn't blame her.

"No!" she shrieked. "I would prefer to go back inside and finish my food! Who builds a restaurant next to a nude beach?"

"Christy- darling- the restaurant is called _Bare Flavor, _after all," I said.

"Darling?" Raoul said. "DARLING! No! I challenge you to a duel for Christine's affections! A NUDE duel!"

The Fop proceeded to pretend he was riding a steed, galloping around me, looking utterly ridiculous. I whipped out my invisible Punjab, screamed "SPARTA!" but before I could reach him, he pulled the ever so dangerous kiddie shovel out of the sand, chucking it at me. Suddenly, the ground started to tremble and shake.

"PHANGIRLS!" Raoul shouted, ducking for cover.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I bellowed. Then everything went black.

When I awoke with a pounding headache, I turned to find the Fop missing an arm, and his wig. I grabbed a pink child's towel which read, _'My Little Pony' _and had a lovely picture of a pretty orange horsy on it from the ground to cover myself, for my clothes had washed out with the tide.

I slowly made my way around the billions of red rose bouquets which littered the ground to get off the beach. On my way I passed a heap; Raoul's clothes. I looked over at him; he was still passed out from the alcohol and blood loss. Taking the same kiddie shovel he had attempted to attack me with earlier, I buried them deep in the sand.

I was about to dramatically climb the wooden stairs when I tripped over a small bundle. The small bundle happened to be Christine, curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth and chanting:

"So many naked people, so, so many naked people…"

Next date we were going somewhere that didn't serve alcohol… and clothes were required.


	3. It's Raining Baritones! HALLELUJAH!

**Hello lovelies! Did ya miss me? Tis me, SingingGal, once again here to write a marvelous story with PorterGirl321! Never fear, this one is much calmer than the last one... but still just as phenomenal, phantastic, and phunny as the others! (It's also a wee bit fluffy) And it's longer! So without further ado, here is our 4-am masterpiece!**

**(further ado) Disclaimer: We do not own Phantom of the Opera. If we did, we would either be an elderly playwright... or dead. So yeah. Also we do not own "Ain't No Mountain", Gandalf (wish we did!), Lord of the Rings, Titanic, or "Row, Row, Row Your Boat. **

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I wake up to steady _drip, drip, drips _on my unmasked face. I growl in frustration and roll out of my silken swan bed into icy water.

'_What the devil is going on here?' I ask myself._

I abruptly stand, the murky water coming close to my knees. I reach out quickly to snatch my soaked cape from the cold death trap. It takes me a moment to put two and two together in my sleepy haze, but I manage to connect the dots.

'_The floods!"_

Paris had recently undergone a series of heavy and repetitive showers. I scanned my lair and gasped in fright, before wading through the chilly water to my piano, rescuing my beloved masterpieces. Many of the candles have been put out, so I worked my way through the shadowy darkness towards where the normal shore usually is to my underground lake. Bobbing up and down on the surface is my precious gondola, a true vision of beauty in my time of need. I heave myself onto the damp cushions, and a wild thought streaks through my mind.

'_Christine! What if she's in peril! I should have planned ahead for something like this! Oh why didn't I pursue building an ark all those years ago?'_

My solution was, well quite simply, to row my gondola up the flooded streets of Paris to Christine's charming apartment, so I could keep an eye on her _and_ not have to be in my submerged lair. Two birds with one stone really.

I began my treacherous journey, but soon became rather bored, so I opened my masculine mouth and let angelic music pour forth.

"_If you need me, call me_

_No matter where you are_

_No matter how far_

_Just call my name_

_I'll be there in a hurry_

_You don't have to worry_

_'Cause baby,_

_There ain't no mountain high enough_

_Ain't no valley low enough_

_Ain't no river wide enough_

_To keep me from getting to you_

_Remember the day_

_I set you free_

_I told you_

_You could always count on me_

_From that day on I made a vow_

_I'll be there when you want me_

_Some way, some how_

_'Cause baby,_

_There ain't no mountain high enough_

_Ain't no valley low enough_

_Ain't no river wide enough_

_To keep me from getting to you_

_No wind, no rain_

_My love is alive_

_Way down in my heart_

_Although we are miles apart_

_If you ever need a helping hand_

_I'll be there on the double_

_As fast as I can_

_Don't you know that_

_There ain't no mountain high enough_

_Ain't no valley low enough_

_Ain't no river wide enough_

_To keep me from getting to you"_

I was prevented from continuing my dramatic ensemble with these lovely interpretive dance motions I had learned from the Daroga, when I heard a distressed wail. Whipping around, thinking it was my sweet angel, I was repulsed to find that fiendish fop drifting down stream, his good arm trying to doggie paddle against the current. The other, thanks to that pitiful phangirl episode on that… erm… _distasteful_ beach, had been replaced with a rhinestone studded hook, which had caught on a cumbersome flower cart.

I was sorely tempted to row on, but knew unfortunately, that he would tattle to Christine… that is, _if _he survived. Oh, how easy it would be to make his death look like an accident, but I had always had trouble lying to my angel.

"Get in the gondola." I said grudgingly. "But if I hear so much as a word from you, fop, then you are swimming back to your home."

"But, my mansion is flooded! There's water an inch deep all through the first floor!" he said, whiningly. Compared to my subterranean home, which is probably filled to the ceiling by now, an inch of water would be quite nice. My home fills with an inch of water every time it sprinkles! "Surely you wouldn't send me back to that!" he added, moaning.

"Fop, you know I would gladly do so. I'll have you know that I'll be out of a home for weeks likely until everything dries."

"After everything I've put you through, Erik, my home is open to you if you are in need of a place to sta-"

"No." I said curtly. He became silent for a moment.

"Um… Erik?" He said. Oh, what did he want now?

"I thought I told you to be quiet."

"I was thinking, since we aren't _technically_ enemies anymore, that maybe we could be… I don't know… civil to each other?"

I stared at him, mouth agape, as he extended his non-hooked hand in my direction. I calmly reached my hand to his for a handshake…

… Then grabbed his hook, stuck it through the fabric of his other sleeve, pinning him to the seat of the gondola. "Raoul, we will never be friends." It was then that I realized that his hook had pierced the floor of the boat, and small spurts of water were escaping around it.

"Raoul. Don't move." I said severely.

But he had already sensed the change in my tone, ripping his hook out of the wood and through his shirt sleeve, putting his hand at the level of his eyes.

"You bumbling FOOL!" I screamed, as he jumped into the rushing water, now up to two stories high due to the still-pouring torrent. He was struggling to doggie-paddle against it, but I yanked him into the gondola by his collar.

"Oh no you don't. You are going to help me find something to plug this hole!"

The water was gushing into the boat faster that I could get it out. I grabbed the wig off of Raoul's head and began using it as a sponge to bail out the water. He was too panicked to care. "I'll keep us from sinking," I said. "And you find something to fix the gondola."

"How about this moustache wax?" he said, displaying a tin of a sticky, brown goo.

"Moustache wax?" I replied condescendingly.

"Why yes! I've been meaning to grow one for quite some time now, and I'll need a way to keep it styled, now won't I? See, Erik, my hair care products can be handy in a practical sense."

"You, fop, are the most ridiculous little pansy I have ever met!" I exclaimed as I patched the hole, using all of the wax, and tossing the jewel-encrusted tin overbroard. It was more than was necessary to do the job, but I didn't want Raoul to have any more moustache wax.

We slowed down as we left the swift current, and the water leveled out to where a large pond had formed in town square. I began to paddle towards the way I was _fairly_ sure led to Christine.

Then, I heard Raoul begin to hum. It started out tuneless and vague, but the sound began to grow into something very, horribly familiar. His humming grew louder, and eventually led to a vicious, vile song that was never to be unheard:

"_Row, row, row your gondola_

_Gently down the streeeeeeets,_

_Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,_

_Life is but a dreaaam!"_

I promptly pushed him out of the boat. The boy can surely swim. Just in case, I threw him a passing tree branch to keep him afloat. He'll make it, I felt sure. He's a lot like those annoying leeches that you just can't get rid of. If he doesn't survive, who's to say I didn't do my best to rescue the lad.

"Why, why would you do this to me, Erik?" he struggled pitifully.

"Silence! I have won fair and square! I kow you!

"You…. _Cow_… me? Like, cow as in beef? And milk?"

"No, fool. _Kow._ K-O-W. '_to overpower someone by force or wit'_. You have experienced this several times at my hand, now would you kindly swim away, please, monsieur."

He ashamedly swam away in the opposite direction, catching a piece of newspaper on his rhinestone hook.

The street eventually led to a locked gate, a dead end. I had ended up in a posh part of town, a gated community where I knew that both of the managers, many of the patrons, and that awful former prima donna resided. This was the place that my lovely Christine once spoke of so very often, where she had Sunday dinners with her fiancée and his family. I paddled up and shook the gates. There was no use in getting it open this way, so I pulled a hairpin out of the wig I still had of Raoul's from drying out my gondola and set to work at picking the lock.

As I was there, trying to open the gate, a man dressed in gray floated by on a raft on the opposite side. The man had a long, snowy beard that trailed down and made him look old and wise. He raised his staff at me and shouted, "_YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"_

So, obviously, I did not pass.

I set off in the opposite direction, fighting the quickly growing current to get back to the town square/lake. Night was beginning to fall, which concerned me greatly. What would my Christine be thinking, left on her own in this awful flood. Her apartment was on the top floor, I knew, so she would be safe, but what panic she must be in. I had to reach her.

I thought of what I could do to make my angel feel better. If there were stores open, I would get her something nice. Flowers? A new hat? I thought of this as I swept along to her.

As I passed the time, I saw a couple. The lady was floating on an old headboard from a bed. The board was massive, big enough for several people. But still, her significant other was holding on to the girl's hands from the cold water, obviously in great distress.

"Please, Rose, might I get up on the board with you? I'm very cold dear." He said.

"There's only room for one of us, Jack, just keep pushing us through the water. That should keep you warm!" She said. "But, I'll never let go!" He slipped into the water.

In other words, she let go.

"What am I supposed to do with _this?!_" the lady said, holding up an elaborate necklace. It looked like it was made for Christine, and she had to have it. She threw it into the water in my general direction.

I made a dramatic leap for it, catching it in midair. However, I fell into the water, and my gondola was swept away. Oh no…

I was caught in the current, pulled downstream. I had no clue where I was headed, or when the current would let up, until the deep, churning water chucked me into the third-story balcony of an apartment building. It was Christine's apartment building.

I climbed in through the glass window into the apartment, where an old lady chased me out with her purse. The elevator was shut down, so I fled up the twelve flights of stairs to Apartment 5 on the top floor. I did quick work of picking the lock and crept silently inside.

"_Christine? Are you alright, dear?"_ I whispered into the dark.

But there she was, fast asleep in her bed, snoring softly. All of this trip, and she wasn't worried at all? Just sleeping peacefully? I left the necklace on the bedside table, on top of the book she was currently reading.

I pulled the deep blue covers (which made me think of the treacherous water I had just escaped) up to her chin, and had an internal battle. Hmm… to be creepy, or not to be creepy? I decided to be creepy, and a random phrase popped into my head.

'_YOLO!'_

I kissed her on the forehead, and not knowing what else to do, stumbled backwards out of the room, and right into the… kitchen. It was there that I discovered Christine's fine stash of wine, and it was there Christine found me passed out several hours later.

She helped me up, and I faintly remember me mumbling something along the lines of, "Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack!" as she lead me to the sofa, and ever so sweetly, tucked me in.

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**Ta-da! Please tell us what you think in the comments, and possibly give us further ideas! Thanks for reading out chocolate-induced randomness!**** PorterGirl321 and SingingGal OUT! :D**


	4. Pillow Fights and Battle Cries

**Greetings from SingingGal and PorterGirl321! We now have several more intriguing chapters in the works. Just a hint... we may soon be working on a new story called "Opera Populaire High". Just a heads up... there are several references in this chapter that we put in just for our own devious amusement to see if you all could catch them. DISCLAIMER: We do not own Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, My Little Pony, I Love Lucy, A Very Potter Musical, Alladin, Tangled, Harry Potter, or Slenderman. But if we did, we would be writing this on an island that we own, tanned and rested and alone, surrounded by enormous piles of money! (and novels), not in a public library. Although we are surrounded by enormous piles of novels... and our homework we aren't doing. :D**

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"No Erik!" snapped a thick accented voice, yanking me from my daydreams of a certain young soprano. "It's step, step, _turn, _step. Not step, step, step turn! THEN shimmy, shimmy, shimmy, yeah!"

I looked up to glare at Nadir Kahn, my oldest and most trusted friend. Well, my _only _friend, really. I felt utterly ridiculous in the stretchy black yoga pants of his that he had forced me into. The Daroga said I had to wear them if I wanted him to teach me interpretive dancing. I preformed the moves exactly as he wanted me this time, not being able to resist a dramatic cape flourish at the very end. He stared at me, speechless.

"That. Was…. FLAWLESS! Erik, you danced!"

I rolled my eyes at my odd friend. It was just about the end of the lesson- thank goodness- when Nadir pulled out a creamy white envelope that he said smelled strongly of vanilla. Curious, I ripped it open, surprised to find an invitation from the Viscount. It read:

You are cordially invited to a…

SLEEPOVER!

February 7

Just bring your toothbrush, sleeping bag, and jammies to the address below:

123 SlenderMan Ln.

PS: The Daroga may come, too!

Love,

Raoul

"What in the world? An invitation? From Raoul? To a… _sleepover?_" is all I can manage to say. Nadir, who had been reading over my shoulder, stood there opening and closing his mouth stupidly like a fish.

There was no way on earth I was going to that absurd sleepover.

"Well of course you have to go, Erik." Christine told me plainly, boring into me with those doe like eyes of hers.

"Why?" I asked, in shock.

"Remember that date with the nude beach?"

"Yes…?" I stated questioningly, wondering what she was getting at.

"Revenge."

Oh my. I had created a monster, hadn't I?

I knocked on the large mahogany doors at the massive mansion, seething. A stiff butler opened it, eyed me up and down, and then slowly nodded his head before leading me inside. I walked in to find the bane of my existence and the Persian chatting amiably. They both rose to greet me. I made sure to avoid eye contact with Nadir, and firmly rejected Raoul's outstretched hand. He appeared extra ridiculous today, with a brown curly wig that looked like he had stuck a sheep on his head. A pencil thin moustache was forming above his upper lip.

"Good to see you ole' chap!" he exclaimed.

Was that a devilish glint I detected in his eye?

"Please, deposit your belongings in the floor." Droned the butler.

"Oh shoo, Alfred! Don't be such a stick in the mud. It's time to PARTY!" Raoul whooped.

I unrolled my _I Love Lucy _sleeping bag on the floor and threw off my cape, revealing a pair of Les Miserables pajamas. The Daroga wore a pair of Aladdin sleepwear, and Raoul had _My Little Pony _footies on.

Alfred returned several moments with a tray of refreshments, including popcorn, these gummy-like bear candies, hot cocoa, and – my personal favorite – about a pound of chocolate.

"Do you gents want to play some games, perhaps twister, or read _Romeo and Juliet_…? I've got tissues!" Raoul chattered away.

"And I've got a Punjab." I muttered under my breath.

"Oh, I know what we should do," said Nadir, grinning knowingly.

"And just what would that be?" I asked snidely.

"Oh yes, please do tell!" Raoul chirped.

Nadir walked over to the couch, picking up onr of the over-stuffed plush pillows.

"Pillow fight!" he shouted, as if he was running into battle. "SPARTA!"

"FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC!" cried Raoul, taking a cushy weapon, chucking it at my face with strength I didn't know he possessed.

"Well, when in Rome." I sighed, then picked up a pillow and proceeded to beat Raoul senseless with it, all the while screaming:

"LEEROY JEEEENKIIIINSSS!"

"Oh come on Erik!" Nadir pleaded. "Just for laughs."

"I suppose he could be chicken…" Raoul trailed off dangerously.

"Fine." I said through gritted teeth, "Dare."

Raoul thought for a moment before snapping his fingers and smiling wickedly.

"I've got it! I dare you to go to Christine's apartment and steal an item of her – _giggle – underwear." _

I felt my face immediately heat up and was glad for the shielding of the mask I wore.

"I- I- I don't think Christine would be very pleased with me if I stole a pair of her –_gulp_ – bloomers."

The Daroga snickered from the corner, gripping his bottle of wine.

"Whipped." He chided.

"All you have to do is sneak into her apartment and steal some of her undergarments, then come back here. We all know she and Meg went out tonight. It will be easy as pie. She'll never know the difference." Raoul persuaded.

I cannot believe I am going to do this.

"Just… just climb onto the balcony."

I scrambled up the ledge and hoisted myself up. Everything was as black as pitch, and I tripped over something hard, landing flat on my face. I lit a candle and continued to pursue my grand quest. The drawer opened with ease, and I grabbed a random pair of her under clothes, running back to the terrace like a madman. I lifted the spoils of my conquest proudly into the air, hearing the enthusiastic hollers of my companions… just as light flooded the room.

I paled, frozen from shock. A stunned Christine and a gasping Meg met my gaze.

"WH- WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE?" she demanded.

"Great scot! It's… it's a panty raid!" Meg shrieked.

My heart was jolted back into existence, and I tried to hide the evidence behind my back, looking out towards my partners in crime for help, only to find them mysteriously missing…

Figures.

Christine boldly marched over and took back her garment. She slapped me, and in an angry huff, stalked back to her bedroom. Meg shoved me out the apartment, but not before telling me, "You should be ashamed of yourself!" accompanied by a cold glare.

I sheepishly made my way back to Raoul's mansion.

_Raoul._

He set me up! That fop would _pay._

I stormed into the not-so-humble-abode, grabbing him by the collar of his brony pajamas.

"You did this!" I hissed.

"Yes. Yes I did."

"You need to learn to keep your hands at the level of your eyes."

I socked him in the mascara covered eye. He moaned and gripped his wound.

"It was just revenge for my hair and pushing me out of the boat. Surely you of all people would understand revenge."

He had a point.

"Does it look like I care, fop?"

"Please Erik! Calm yourself!" Nadir said, putting a hand on my shoulder to hold me back.

"I will not _calm myself_. Raoul just framed me stealing a pair of Christine's stockings, again!" I spat.

"Remember our meditation techniques, Erik!" Nadir said. "Inhale, then exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Deep breaths. Use your aerobic respiration, friend."

After my rage had subsided, we all gathered together for an activity I could appreciate; scary stories. Raoul was cuddled up on the couch sporting an ice pack.

Nadir was just finishing up his bone chilling tale:

"All that was left was a mysterious picture. Of course, his friend still remembers that horrible figure in the reflection he saw. It wore a finely tailored business suit, and worst of all, possessed no face."

I shuddered, recalling the horror stories told about me once.

"There was no doubt. It was… SLENDERMAN!" he finished dramatically.

I heard a voice from the other room : "Can anyone tell me what… _foreshadowing_ is?"

"What the- who is in here!" I said, bravely.

"Just turn to page 394, muggle." The voice said, before we heard footsteps going away and a door slamming.

Raoul let out a small shriek, looking around fearfully. I rolled my eyes. What a spineless mass of gelatin.

"Well, that was a most enlightening tale Nadir, but I think I need a drink–"

That's when the lights began to flicker.

"What was that?" Nadir pondered.

"Uh…?" I quipped.

Thunder boomed outside. Lightning flashed.

And a shadow of Slenderman appeared on the wall.

Raoul and I began to scream at the top of our lungs, him jumping into my arms and burying his head in my shoulder. Over our blood curdling cries, the sound of laughter could be heard.

Christine and Meg were gripping their sides, literally rolling on the floor laughing.

"Your face!"

"That was – _snort – _priceless!"

Once the laughing ladies had composed themselves, they explained how they had set this up with the Persian to get their sweet revenge. Christine told how she had received a suspicious letter tipping her off about the panty raid. After it had been reexamined, she noticed the penmanship had a peculiar girlish flair to it and smelled strongly of vanilla, Raoul's signature scent. So, after begging her forgiveness and having it accepted, Christine gave me a chaste peck on the cheek and set off with Meg, most likely up to more mischief.

Hmm…

Maybe slumber parties aren't so bad after all.

"Time for blind makeovers!"

Nevermind.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review and tell us what references you caught and give us ideas of things to do in the future. We love you. PorterGirl321 and SingingGal signing out!**


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